


Blood and Merriment

by Jechim



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Horror, Party Horror?, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27322177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jechim/pseuds/Jechim
Summary: On the night of the hunt, the bourgeois gather in a nobleman's rented manor to dance and drink the night away. But the locked doors of the manor soon turn from security to death trap as strange happenings begin to occur among the blood-drunk guests...
Kudos: 12





	Blood and Merriment

**Author's Note:**

> A fanfic written for a contest. The challenge was to make a soulsborne-themed horror story, so of course I had to write something in the world of Bloodborne. Admittedly, this is my first attempted at writing horror, so...

“‘Twould seem the night of the hunt has fallen upon us again, my friends and associates,” mused Antonius from the doorside window, “and the streets are aglow with pyre- and lantern-light both. Listen, and you shall hear the shouts of hunters and the growlings of beasts as they participate in bloody, brutal combat. Soon the streets will blacken, and only moonlight will light the cobblestones. It will stay that way ‘till the Good Blood decrees it otherwise; indeed, the nighttime seems to extend unnaturally whilst the blood sport continues. For those locked out on the streets, this means they must survive for Gods know how long.”

He turned then to face the crowd gathered in the grand hall of the manor, jubilant, well-pampered faces beaming back at him. “But you all needn’t worry about that for a moment. The doors are bolted shut, the windows barred over. And indeed, the length of the night just affords you more time to eat, drink, be merry! So please; we’ve a feast awaiting you, an unending flow of blood to quench your thirst, and merriment abound!” 

The crowd surrounding Clarisse erupted into cheers, and promptly began to chat among themselves as Antonius lowered himself from the chair on which he’d made his speech. The faint sound of music filled the air, muffled by the chatter of the bourgeois surrounding her. Soon, men and women in suits and skirts-- though far less fine than those of the attendees, Clarisse noticed-- began to weave across the floor, offering glasses filled to the brim with deep, red liquid. Not a single one of these glasses went unclaimed; indeed, these servants could hardly move a few meters away from the bar each time before they had to return to the counter and restock, so ravenous were the guests for the refreshments. The guests themselves were well-dressed all, bringing only their best to the occasion. Under the warm, yellow light of the chandelier was a sea of blue, red, yellow fabric, fabulous dresses interspersed with the blackness of the mens’ suits. Most were young, Clarisse observed, though she did spot a few older folks among the crowd, most notably a pair of portly gentlemen in long coats and monocles, wispy white hair gracing their bulbous heads.

Another gentleman accidentally shoved his way past Clarisse on the way to refill his empty glass, distracting her from her people-watching, and she suddenly realized that she was very conspicuously alone, a soloist among the duets (or even full orchestras) of conversation and merriment occurring on the dancing floor. Face reddening, she hurried to make her way to the bar for herself, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach as she wondered whether the other guests could tell how out of place. She’d come at Antonius’ invitation, of course, and yet… She recognized many of the faces here, and knew from that that all these guests were either nouveau riche or old money. Clarisse was neither, having built up rapport and reputation on her own terms. Rather than grant her pride, however, this achievement fostered a feeling of great insecurity within her this night, for she knew deep down that she didn’t belong with this crowd.

Hoping to intoxicate herself into solace among her new peers, she finally squeezed her way to the bar, clamoring though it was with-- quite literally-- blood-thirsty guests. It took a few minutes for the bartender to notice and approach her, but he did so with a smile, his posture jovial and unassuming. “Some blood for you, madam?”

She shook her head. “No blood, thank you. Do you have champagne?”

His posture remained welcoming as ever, though his smile twitched. “Pardon, madam?”

Her face, however, was marred by a frown. She hadn’t thought her question particularly bizarre or unusual. “Champagne? Or other alcohol, really.”

“We have blood cocktails, if that’s what you’re looking for, madam.”

“I…” Had she not said she’d rather not have blood? “I’ll take a water, please, thank you.”

It was with this that his face turned into a judgmental sneer. It lasted for hardly a moment, but it was enough to shock Clarisse while the bartender poured her water, delivering it to her without another word on his way to serve another guest. Shaking her head at the queer encounter, Clarisse took her water and was just about to turn away when she felt a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump and nearly drop the water she’d endeavored so to retrieve in the first place.

“Hey now, no need to get jumpy, _madam,_ ” Antonius said, his snickering face coming into view, “It’s only me.”

Clarisse sighed in frustration, giving him a light swat on the arm. “You _know_ I’m jumpy. And I hope you also know you agreed to meet me right after your little speech. I don’t exactly blend in with the crowd, so it’s rather difficult to start up conversation with anyone else here.”

Antonius smirked, taking Clarisse by the shoulder and leading her away from the bar, further into the crowd. “Oh, I think you blend in just fine. You’re being paranoid. But yes, I did promise that, didn’t I? I do hope you’ll forgive me for being, what was it, five minutes later than I promised? Unfortunately, I was quite quickly pulled aside by Erwin Schirmer following the speech, who wished to congratulate me for putting this event together. Then the Touchards got a hold of me, and they wanted me to direct them to a private room, and then old Jacques found me, and… well, you get the picture. But I extricated myself as soon as possible, and came to find you. I take it you’re not enjoying yourself?”

Clarisse glanced at the walls of people surrounding them as they walked, myriad colors and an unfathomable myriad of voices closing in tight on either side, threatening to crush them alive. “The party’s quite lovely…” she mumbled. Antonius turned to her and blinked in confusion, seeming to not have heard.

“The party’s quite lovely!” She said, loud enough for him to hear, “It’s just… not quite my cup of tea. You know how I am with crowds.” 

At that, Antonius gave an understanding nod, flashing his characteristic grin. “I thought that might be the case. ‘S why I said I’d stick by your side in the first place! Come on, then, I got us a private room. It’ll be much more quiet up there.”

“Antonius, _please…”_

“No, no, not like that, Clarisse! Please, you know I know better--”

“Do I?”

“Okay, well, I try--”

“ _Do you?_ ”

“I do! I promise I do. And I meant ‘us’ in the colloquial sense. Every time I throw one of these things, some friends and I who prefer the quiet gather upstairs, in a private room, just to talk. I _promise_ it’s nothing untoward.”

Clarisse still had her doubts, but gave him a nod, and allowed him to lead her through the crowd on a weaving, twisting path, towards the stairs leading to the upper floors. Strangely, Clarisse felt judgmental eyes turning towards her as she squeezed past some guests, smoldering countenances peering into her soul and judging her worth. And in some cases, they seemed to ignore the soul entirely and instead focus on her blood. These hungry gazes, she thought, seemed more dangerous than the judgmental ones. 

Eventually they made it through the throng of well-dressed people and made their way upstairs. Unlike the open ground floor, which was well-suited for receiving guests, the upper floors seemed a labyrinth of dim hallways and doors. A few giggling guests passed them as they walked, a man pulling a woman into a private room and slamming the door. They mostly walked in silence, until a raggedy-looking servant passed them and a question sprang to Clarisse’s mind. 

“Antonius?” She asked, breaking the silence. “Who are these servants? Do they work at your family’s estate?”

“Oh, heavens no! Well, some of them. But mostly no! My family doesn’t _technically_ own this place. It’s like… a home for the impoverished, or something of the sort. That’s why it’s in such a miserable district. But when the hunt comes ‘round, the proprietors clean the place up, and we all come in and have a jolly old time. The folks that live here, _those_ are the servants. We don’t want them to be left out on the street, so we let them work here for the night.”

“You… let them work in their own house?”

“Well, yes! We couldn’t just have them stay here for _free_ , now, could we? They’d just laze around and kill the mood.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Antonius-- why doesn’t your family just buy a manor to hold these things in, and staff it with your own people?”

“Oh, that’d be such a waste of money when we can just get shelter and labor for free, and do a public service besides by partying with the lower class. You’re a philanthropist, aren’t you? You should ask one of the servants about all this; I’m sure they’d be tickled pink. Ah, but that’ll have to be another time, I think, since we’re here already.”

Antonius stopped in front of a door-- she wasn’t sure how he could tell which was the right one, they all looked the same to her-- and held it open for her, gesturing for her to enter. She did so, and found herself in a sitting room full of plush furniture arranged vaguely in a circle, with a collection of bottles on the center table. Smoke wafted to the ceiling from a few ashtrays on the selfsame table, partially obscuring the faces of those seated on the far side, though she could still see them perk up as they entered. There were four of them in total; three men and a woman. 

“Now, who’s this, Antonius?” a lean, mousy man called. “What’s this pretty thing you’ve brought for us?”

“Oh, stop that, Gabriel,” Antonius said, slipping past Clarisse and quickly flopping onto a couch, inviting her to join him as he lounged. She did so after a moment’s hesitation, sitting primly on the small segment of the couch he wasn’t sprawled on top of. “This is Clarisse Baumer, and she hates it when people call her things like that. Clarisse, this is Gabriel Moreau, an architect; Marius Kirchner, an author, or so he calls himself; Joshua Bassot, a… well, he’s somehow made a career out of sponsoring playhouses. Oh, and that’s Marius’s date, erm…”

“Lady Lucile Delaplace,” the lanky man Antonius had indicated as Marius said. The lady next to him dipped her head in acknowledgement, lounging against Marius. “And I _am_ an author, Antonius. I’m published.”

“Ooh, yes, and just how much money was passed under the table to get that _masterwork_ of yours on the shelves?” Gabriel said, snickering.

“None of your business, Gabriel. Might I ask how much you’ve spent getting other people to do the work you’ve been credited for?”

Gabriel balked, sitting up in his seat. “Excuse me, sir? I worked my way up from the _bottom_ \--”

Antonius gave a loud sigh, rolling his eyes and sitting up to fetch a bottle from the tabletop, pouring blood into glasses for all of them. He passed them around, though Clarisse just placed hers back on the table for the time being. “We’ve all heard it before, Gabriel. Please, not in front of the ladies?”

Lucile scoffed, sipping her blood. “Oh, please, I’m not so delicate that I can’t handle a little bickering. Though I’m curious to hear what this one has to say.” She nodded over to Clarisse, who perked up slightly. “You haven’t said a word yet, dear. Tell me, do you work? I shudder at the thought, and apologize for the implication, but you clearly aren’t married, so I’m curious.”

Lucile’s words were like daggers to Clarisse, and whatever self-introduction she’d been ready to deliver caught in her throat, leaving her flustered. Blessedly, Antonius stepped in, taking a swig from his glass before speaking. “Oh, Clarisse here works plenty. More than the rest of us, I’d say. She’s a _philanthropist._ ” He said the word as though it were foreign and exciting to him, and gave a smile that said more than any of the outright laughter she’d received in her career.

Marius raised a skeptical eyebrow. “A philanthropist? What, so you just give out money to dirty folks?”

This got a snicker out of his companion. “Like the people from that old district!” 

“Right shame, that incident was,” Gabriel mused, shaking his head as he sipped from his glass.

“Please, Gabriel, you speak as though it wasn’t their fault they ended up how they did,” Lucile said, scoffing yet again.

“Well, obviously, but burning the entire district? A bit much, in my eyes, and besides, I was working on a project nearby at the time. My clothes smelled of smoke for weeks!”

Clarisse was taken aback by all of this, and looked to see if Antonius would speak up, but he seemed much more interested in pouring himself a second glass of blood; it seemed he’d managed to bottom himself out. So instead, it fell to her to say her own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “How is it the fault of the Old Yharnamites that they _burned to death?_ ”

All eyes turned to her, regarding her as though she was a particularly curious stain on the couch. Marius spoke up after a long moment, and his tone was not unlike what one would use when speaking to a child. 

“Because the district was in that condition in the first place. If they’d worked harder, worked themselves up, they’d probably not have had such a problem with the plague. Could’ve avoided it entirely, maybe. But they were lazy. Content in rolling in pig slop and bad, rotten blood. So they caught the plague, and burned for it.”

“But… that’s nonsense, isn’t it? You can’t ‘work yourself up’ from a plague--”

It was Gabriel’s turn to scoff, and quite loudly. “Oh, you most certainly can! Look at me, Clarabella. I worked my way up from the very bottom. I was _nothing_ when I started out, and now I’m an accomplished architect! If I can reach this kind of high, so can the bums out there--”

“Your father isn’t rich enough to buy the bloody church itself, but he can just about afford everything else in this city,” Joshua said. Despite his stark appearance-- a massive, bulky frame constrained by a blood-red suit-- Clarisse had forgotten he was even there, for how quiet he was. “You’re complaining about having to eat from a silver spoon rather than a golden one.”

“Now, now, it’s no good arguing,” Antonius said. As Clarisse turned to him, she was shocked to realize he was gulping down the glass he had poured for _her_. While the others had hardly had time to pour themselves a second serving of blood-- only Joshua had drank more than two-- Antonius had somehow already gone through several _bottles_ on his own, and had seemingly picked up her glass when his ran empty. His voice was steady, but his face gave odd twitches occasionally, a few beads of sweat shimmering on his brow. “Clarisse does have a point. We can’t just expect folks like that to work their way up from the bottom _them_ _selves_ , can we? That’s why I think the church should step in. They’ve got so much blood, don’t they? So much good blood, fit for distributing. If they really cared about the lower class, they could help, with all that blood.” He took another swig from her glass.

“Er, Antonius, are you alri--” Clarisse hadn’t even finished speaking when the door suddenly slammed open, causing the six of them to jump in their seats. In the doorway stood the silhouette of a servant, panting.

“M’lord,” the servant gasped, “Ah, Milord, I mean… A guest is trying to leave, sir…”

Antonius stared at her for a moment, then stood suddenly, bolting out from the room in a feral hurry. The five remaining called out to him to wait, and scrambled behind him, Lucile and Clarisse gripping their skirts as they ran as well as they could behind the men until they all arrived at the great hall once again, stopping at the top of the grand staircase. 

From the grand staircase, Clarisse had a clear view of the room, scanning the crowd for Antonius. At first glance, the crowd seemed much the same as it had been before, though she did spot a few strange happenings, such as a woman sucking on her forefinger blissfully. The more she looked, however, the more bizarre things stood out to her; The bartender leaning against the countertop, hacking loudly; A woman weeping as she dug her nails into a man’s neck, while others looked on; a group of people standing almost completely still, as though petrified mid-conversation; A man slamming his fists into the window near the door, and Antonius rushing towards him…

“I’ve spotted him!” Clarisse called to the other four, and they hastened to follow her. When confronted with the mass of people once more, she took a deep breath, then dove headfirst into the throng, weaving between bodies, trying not to pay attention to their eyes as she pushed towards the front. At long last, she reached the front door, the other four close behind her. There she found Antonius, seeming quite calm, confronting the man, who just continued to slam his hands into the window and scream.

“OUT! I WANT _OUT!”_

“Sir,” Antonius said reservedly, “You are not allowed to leave until the night is over. Sir--”

“NO! I CAN’T STAY HERE! I NEED TO GO!”

Antonius’ face twitched for just a moment, his body shaking, though his voice remained calm. “Sir. Can you hear me? You’re not allowed to leave.”

Clarisse stepped forward slightly. “Antonius, stay calm--”

Her voice was promptly drowned out by the man’s shouting. “NO! NO, I CAN’T! I HAVE TO--”

Something in Antonius seemed to snap. The next few moments were a blur for Clarisse; Antonius reached for something in his jacket, whipped it out, and then there was a sudden bang, loud enough to deafen her for a moment, causing her to slap her hands over her ears. When she removed them, however, the screaming had stopped, and the man laid crumpled on the ground, blood pooling under his head.

Clarisse looked around; the clamor and bustle of the party had stopped, and all eyes were on Antonius, who stood paralyzed, staring down at the pistol in his hand. He looked up after a moment, a thin smile trembling its way across his lips. 

“Everything’s under control,” he said, his voice wavering, but loud enough to reach across the crowd, “Go back to having fun… it’s under control, now. I’ll just… clean up, I’ll…”

The partygoers seemed eager to return to their antics, but Clarisse couldn’t take her eyes off Antonius. He sat down, cradling the man’s head in his arms, then leaned down and placed his lips to the hole he himself had blown through his skull. He began to suck loudly from the hole, his eyes going bloodshot as he did so.

Clarisse took a step back, feeling as though she would be sick, her vision swimming. Joshua, meanwhile, took initiative. The broad man strode forward and grabbed Antonius around the waist, lifting him up and carrying him through the crowd, shoving his way past addled partygoers. The remaining four, Clarisse included, followed in his wake as though in a daze. They watched in disbelief as Antonius writhed and screamed in his grasp, digging his fingers into his back, trying and failing to get down however he could. Joshua was unflinching, however, and did not stop until he had carried Antonius up the stairs and into the first private room he could find, slamming the door behind them, leaving the rest of them in the hallway.

They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Many times, Clarisse thought to start some sort of conversation, to at least discuss what had happened, but the other three seemed like they’d be unwilling to participate, so she abandoned the notion. Eventually, blessedly, Joshua emerged from the room again, his face stoic.

“He’s calmed down,” he said, “He’s… ready to see you all now.”

The five of them filed into the dimly-lit room. This room, unlike the one where they’d conversed prior, contained a bed, which Antonius sat on the foot of, hunched over. His eyes were bloodshot, his face damp with sweat, his jacket discarded and his cravat undone, but he flashed them a smile regardless as they entered.

Gabriel mustered the courage to speak first. “Antonius, mate. What… Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, dear Gabriel. Absolutely rosy,” Antonius groaned.

“Please, Antonius, now’s hardly the time for jokes,” Marius sighed, “Are you going to _be_ alright? I’m sure the guests won’t remember what happened once the night is up, but…”

“Thank you, Marius. Thank you all. But I’ll be alright, I promise. I just...need some rest, see? It’s a long night, so I can get plenty of sleep. Once I get some rest, I’ll be right as rain…”

“Are you certain?” Clarisse’s voice surprised even her; the others stared at her uncomfortably, aside from Antonius, who already seemed uncomfortable enough. “You look… very unhealthy. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“And thus, I need my rest, right?” He flashed her a tired grin. “This won’t be the last you see of me, Clarisse, I promise you that. Now, you all… enjoy the party as much as you can, alright? Just have fun, leave me to my rest…”

After a moment’s hesitation, the group filed out of the room, giving him worried looks as they went. Soon, only Clarisse was left, with Joshua holding the door for her. She wanted to say something, to tell him to be alright, to thank him… anything, to give him comfort. 

She opened her mouth, still uncertain as to her words, when he suddenly let out a bestial howl that echoed off the walls, a sound she’d never heard a human make. His body began to contort in the dim light as blood streamed from his lips, his fingers tearing at his shirt, nails ripping into his skin. He screamed as his bones began to snap and pop, his arms extending unnaturally, nails growing into claws…

So paralyzed by the sight was Clarisse that she didn’t notice Joshua grab her until he’d already thrown her out the door and slammed it behind him, locking himself in with Antonius once again. Marius was first to recover, slamming on the door.

“Joshua!” he roared, “Joshua, open this Godsforsaken door!”

“I’ll unlock it when I’m done,” came Joshua’s voice, muffled both by the door and the howls coming from within.

“He’s our friend, you buffoon! What do you plan to do?” Gabriel sputtered. “You can’t intend to kill him, surely!”

“He’s a beast. I’m going to kill him, before he kills anyone else.”

“What do you think you are, a hunter? Open the bloody--”

They were interrupted by a scream, but this one did not emanate from behind the door. They all turned their heads down the hall towards the grand staircase, from where another scream rang out. After a moment’s hesitation, they abandoned their posts at the door and ran down the hall, returning to their earlier vantage point atop the grand staircase.

The scene below was absolute chaos. An enormous troll-like creature with a bloated, malformed body, clad in a tattered long coat and with a twisted head topped with wispy white hair, was swinging its massive fists through the crowd, catching guests and servants alike with its blows, spraying mangled flesh and broken bone across the fine marble floor, the stone cracking beneath his steps. Behind him, one of the portly men Clarisse had spotted earlier was convulsing on the floor, screaming with pain as his own flesh expanded and rotted before her very eyes, turning a deep grey as his clothes tore open, his screams progressively turning into low, bestial groans.

The partygoers, meanwhile, cried out in terror as they attempted to flee from the chaos, all making for the most obvious point of exit they could think of: the front door. But the door was secured to hold against the blows of beasts, and so were the bars on the windows, and so the partygoers trampled over each other-- most literally-- only to find themselves pinned against the wall, vulnerable to whatever beasts might come to get them.

And “beasts” there were, for those guests who did not make for the doors were instead writhing on the ground, twisting and groaning as their bodies deformed, reshaping them into terrible, ravenous beasts. Most grew long hair over their bodies; some grew in height, some grew long, ferocious nails. Soon, a ravenous host of myriad beasts arose from the carnage and descended upon the terrified humans that remained, blood spraying into the air, a fine crimson added to the sea of color beneath the yellow chandelier.

“W-we need to go,” croaked Marius, recovering first from the shock. “We need to--”

It was at this moment that the troll noticed them standing upon the dais and growled. He leaned down, picked up a particularly large fragment of stone, and hurled it with all his might, giving a mighty roar. The stone hit Marius squarely in the forehead, bouncing off and spraying the nearby Gabriel with blood and brain. Lucile shrieked; Clarisse gagged; Marius slumped to the ground, very dead. Gabriel seemed in shock, standing there with his suit dyed red as Joshua's and eyes wide as plates, and Lucile could do nothing but tremble. It was Clarisse’s turn to recover first, grabbing both by the arms and forcing them to follow her back through the twisting halls of the manor.

She had no idea where they could go; was there even a ground floor exit that wasn’t barred off? Surely not, surely if Antonius could guarantee their safety, all exits would be sealed… But of course, Antonius! He would certainly know the way out, if he was master of this place. They just had to find Antonius... 

She turned down hallway after hallway, identical as they might have seemed, until she led them to the door that she was certain they had left Antonius and Joshua behind. The distant roar of beasts echoed in her ears, a sound that was growing ever-so-closer, almost as loud as the hammering of her heart in her chest. With a trembling hand, she reached for the doorknob…

And the door swung inward on its hinges, slamming open. A long, clawed hand gripped the doorknob, and the enormous head of a wolf stuck its head out, nearly knocking the lantern hanging from the ceiling of the hallway. Its eyes were pearly white, its mouth filled with too many fangs, and its body… its body was that of a man turned monster, with long, lanky limbs and a torso covered in deep-black fur-- and the remnants of a blood-red suit. Even as one hand gripped the doorframe, the other swung into view, and it carried the remnants of a beast; a creature covered in deep brown fur, body mangled and broken, but still bearing a face that briefly resembled Antonius’.

“ _Why are you all looking at me like that?”_ The wolven beast growled, drool dripping from its jaws. “ _Did you… get smaller... I don’t…”_

The creature trailed off as he spotted the blood-stained, fear-paralyzed Gabriel, and his nose twitched. He gave a sudden roar, dropping the body in his hand and lunging past the two women, pouncing upon Gabriel and enveloping his chest with his massive jaws, snapping his ribs, impaling his organs as he screamed, dying quickly, yet far too slowly to go without pain. The wolf became engrossed in his meal, ripping into Gabriel’s lifeless body before the warmth could leave, slurping loudly on his blood. Lucile fled with another shriek, and Clarisse soon followed after taking one last look at Antonius’ body, at the body of the person who’d invited her here, the person who’d considered himself her friend until the very end.

As the two women fled blindly through the halls, more doors popped open around them, expelling both beasts and terrified humans, the latter of whom quickly became prey for the former. Lucile and Clarisse had no time to stop to try to help; they just had to keep running, keep running…

Eventually, however, Clarisse turned a corner and ran headfirst into Lucile, who had stopped and leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

“Lucile…?” Clarisse wheezed, catching her breath. “Lucile, we need to run, please…”

“Am I… Am I going to live, Clarisse?” Lucile gasped, spittle dribbling down her chin, her eyes odd and distant.

“Of course,” Clarisse said, her voice full of false confidence. “Of course you’re going to live. You’re going to get out of here…”

Lucile stared at her blankly for a moment, as though processing her words, before giving a lazy smile. “That’s good… I was worried I wouldn’t…”

And with that, Lucile’s skin and flesh began to melt, pooling beneath her, her bones apparently liquefying as her arms stretched and bloated, her skin taking on an unnatural paleness, her hair melting away. She slid out of her dress, leaving her a near-formless blob with sunken eyes and merely a hole for a mouth.

Clarisse was backing away before she even realized her body was moving, and Lucile’s eyes followed her. “What’s wrong?” Lucile gurgled, her voice sounding as though she’d been submerged in water. “Aren’t I going to live?”

At that moment, the wolven beast from before came crashing around the corner at great speeds, moving so quickly that he slammed itself into the wall, inadvertently catching Lucile in his fall. She made a sickening _splat_ as she was pinned between that muscular body and the hard wall, leaving a large, white stain on both. Clarisse was snapped out of her horrified reverie at the sight, and took off running down the hallway again before the creature to recover. She was alone… alone again, just as she’d been but a few hours ago, amidst so many partygoers, and she needed to keep running, just keep running… Until she hit a dead end.

The hallway ended with but a single, small window, covered with bars. She pressed on it, she pulled it, she hit it until her knuckles bled, until hope was drained from her. She slowly turned around, and saw the wolven beast turn down her hallway, staring her down with its pale orbs. Clarisse wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. To puke. To disappear. But all she could do was cower down in the corner next to the window and watch, unblinking, as the creature roared and charged towards her…

And then, most suddenly, one of the doors in the hallway exploded, expelling its resident, another troll-beast. It slammed right into the wolf, and, carried by the dark creature’s momentum, both monsters sailed just over Clarisse’s head and into the wall behind her, causing the masonwork to shatter beneath the weight, and sending Clarisse tumbling out into the crisp night air, two stories up-- until she landed roughly on top of the trollish monster, the pain nearly blacking her out.

She laid there for a moment, dazed, before scrambling off the creatures, getting away lest they get up. Upon further examination, however, she realized that both creatures had been killed instantly in the fall; The troll when its head hit the cobblestones, the wolf under the weight of the troll. Her mind struggling to accept the fact that she was out of imminent danger, she glanced around at her surroundings; she was in an alleyway, it seemed, with dark buildings looming on either side. She limped across the slick cobblestones, breathing ragged; she’d escaped the manor, but it was still the night of the hunt. She needed to find shelter. She needed help… help from anybody. After what felt like hours, she finally extricated herself from the alley and turned down the main street.

Only then did she get her first glimpse of the furious, blood-red moon, surrounded by unnatural purple clouds. It seemed to stare down at her as though a god in and of itself, a second, malevolent sun, and most certainly something her eyes were never supposed to lay upon. Some part of her brain, some primal instinct, knew just how _wrong_ this was, and the more logical part of her brain could only justify this feeling as being indicative of the end of the world, or something close to it.

And as she stared up at that furious eye, something revealed itself from behind a building: an enormous, spider-like creature, too large to wrap her mind around, with human hands, too many fingers, and a strange, humanoid torso. Its head was a bulbous, tentacled mass, adorned with dozens of eyes, each one glowing a faint, threatening yellow. And as she stared on, paralyzed, that monster stared back, almost innocently, curiously.

For it _was_ innocent. The cosmos had no good, no evil. The cosmos was infinite, unending, all-encompassing. It was so large, so broad, that if something as infinitesimally tiny as morality existed within it, it was unnoticeable amongst the stars, amongst the galaxies. And even smaller than that, smaller than the planet, smaller than that innocent Amygdala, was the thing that was called Clarisse. Her suffering, her experiences, her loss, her love, existed at the subatomic level on the scale of the cosmos, on the scale of Reality.

She was pure. She was unnoticeably small. And now she was no more.


End file.
